


Connections

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, Adult baby, Age Play, Cuddling, Daddy John, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Sharing a Bed, baby sherlock, emotional issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock saves John from a kidnapper, he's distant and refuses John's comfort even though John is sure that's what he needs. John is hurt by Sherlock's rejection but resolves to figure out exactly what to do to help his flatmate and little boy. When he figures out the answer, it is surprisingly simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John felt an impending sense of doom, a nagging in the back of his brain and a sinking feeling in his stomach. It would have made sense, had it been due to the near death experience he’d just suffered. Being kidnapped and nearly killed would have been a perfect reason for feeling something bad was about to happen. But that wasn’t the reason for his unease at all. It was all due to the pale, dark haired man standing a few feet from him who looked anything but alright. 

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, being kidnapped these days. John hated to admit how often it seemed to occur in his and Sherlock’s line of work but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. Sherlock had been tracking a killer for the past few days and in an attempt to draw him out, the man had kidnapped John during the night. While John had been worried, of course, he also took a great comfort in knowing Sherlock would take the bait. And he had not been wrong; Sherlock had come for him like he always did. Just like John knew he always would. 

John should have felt relief and to some measure he did. He felt that edgy sense of excitement that came with a serious adrenaline rush. But rather than making him feel content and as if everything was right with the world, right now it just made him jittery and anxious. 

As soon as John had been pulled from the building by Sherlock, mere minutes after his kidnapper had been shot, Sherlock fled the scene. John watched as Sherlock walked down the street with the quick pace of someone guilty and stopped at the end of the street. While a few people at the station insisted that he should go to the hospital, John took off after him, worry filling him. He wasn’t only worried about his partner who had just risked his life to come save him; he was also worried about his little boy. John had at one time found it fairly easy to detach his thoughts about adult Sherlock and little Sherlock, it seemed nearly impossible these days. 

When John caught up to Sherlock, he was standing on the edge of the street, looking at the fast, congested traffic in the street. Sherlock’s eyes were glassy and vacant, as if he wished the traffic might swallow him whole. He looked scared…..small…..it wasn’t the look Sherlock should have at all. This was the time that Sherlock should be happy, boasting……gloating about how well he had done. Sherlock was always happy when he solved a case, always eager to point out just how stupid the Yard was and how they had failed to solve the crime. If he wasn’t doing that, then John knew something was terribly wrong. 

“Sherlock?” John said tentatively behind Sherlock, trying to catch his attention without startling him. He looked like the slightest provocation would send him over the edge. 

Sherlock didn’t answer, didn’t even appear to hear him. “Sherlock, are you okay?” John prodded. He knew that he wasn’t, he just wanted Sherlock to say something. Anything. 

“I’m fine” Sherlock answered after a long pause. It was exactly the answer that John expected but at least it meant he was speaking. 

“You seem a little….” John started but he didn’t get to finish his thoughts. 

“I said, I’m fine” Sherlock snapped back, glancing at John with an angry stare. 

John knew when Sherlock said he was fine, it always meant he wasn’t. Sherlock loved to argue and complain; if he was saying he was fine then something was wrong and he just didn’t want to talk about it. “Sherlock, you know you can be honest with me” John said as gently as he could. “If something is wrong, I can help you”

When Sherlock looked back at him, his face was full of even more anger than before. “What I need is for you to leave me alone” he barked “I don’t need you to baby me” 

John was so stunned he couldn’t think of single thing to say before Sherlock hailed a cab, jumped inside and slowly worked through the traffic and away from him. John was left standing on the street, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had been convinced Sherlock was not doing okay; this confirmed it. Sherlock loved being little and he never refused John’s care except for when something was wrong. 

I don’t need you to baby me…..the words rang in John’s head and made him feel sad. Any relief and happiness he had felt at being rescued vanished as he had watched his little boy leave, upset and alone. He should have stopped him; why didn’t he? Sherlock could be anywhere and he was smart enough to make sure that John didn’t find him. John’s head was suddenly filled with a million terrible possibilities. When Sherlock was upset, he could be, and usually was, very self-destructive. Usually, John could see the signs of it coming and could head it off but if he wasn’t with him, it was hard to tell how he might react. 

John shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around at all of the police crowded around the house that had been the crime scene he’d been a part of and he felt a wave of dizziness come over him. He should have been resting but he couldn’t rest until Sherlock was at home with him. 

Knowing he had only one option to find Sherlock before he did some serious damage to himself, John fished his mobile out of his pocket and dialed a seldom used number. 

“Mycroft……I need your help” John said, feeling a sinking in the pit of his stomach. 

…….  
John felt dizzy and tired as he walked into the club but he tried to push it down; Sherlock needed him and he couldn’t sleep until he took care of this. While this was a very upscale club, it was still a club and not the type of place that Sherlock normally frequented. John ignored the strange looks of the people dressed in clothes that cost more than his entire net worth and scanned every face for Sherlock’s. While he hated having to consult Mycroft, he was relieved that he knew where he was and even more relieved Mycroft had managed to get him in. 

John looked through the entire bar area and found no trace of Sherlock; he wasn’t exactly hard to spot in a crowd. Walking back toward the more secluded part of the club, John felt his skin begin to crawl with nerves. 

At the back of the club there was a dancing floor occupied with several couples dancing in ways he felt guilty for even looking at. John knew immediately that Sherlock wouldn’t be among them; he never danced unless it was to some Disney song. John looked around the room, squinting through the dim lighting at the semi-private booths, most of which were occupied with people engaged in activity that should have been taken somewhere completely private. John had convinced himself he must have gotten here too late, Sherlock must have left already……and then he saw him. 

John would have expected if Sherlock had ran away to be alone, if he had gotten drunk. He would have even expected to find him on a drug binge. But the sight in front of him was one he had not expected, not in the least. 

Sherlock was sited in one of the corner booths, mostly obscured from view by three very attractive women sitting with him. John felt a strange stirring inside him as he watched the strange scene in front of him. A blonde haired woman sat on his lap, giving him a through snog as she undid the last of his shirt buttons to revel his pale chest. On either side of him were two other women, playing with his hair. 

He never even tries and women fall all over him…..was John’s first thought at the scene. That thought didn’t last long though; as he watched the sordid affair and how thoroughly Sherlock appeared to be enjoying himself his emotions went cold. His stomach churned and he felt the strange urge to punch something. Jealously……it was a feeling that he knew well. He was jealous……but of what? He wasn’t jealous of the women, he knew that. He did not want to be the one kissing Sherlock and he was sure that of that. So, what was he jealous of? He was jealous because in some way, Sherlock was looking for comfort and he wasn’t looking for it in John. 

“Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing?” without meaning to John’s voice instantly took on some of his ‘soldier’s voice’ Sherlock relished in little space. His fists were knotted up and sweaty and he was glad when Sherlock instantly looked up and at him. It made him a little sick when the woman on Sherlock’s lap glanced back at him with a wicked smile. John’s ire rose; how dare anyone act like that around his little boy……

“John…..what are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, his voice slurred and choppy; drunk, very drunk. 

“I’m here to take you home” John said sternly. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Sherlock laughed drunkenly. “Relax, John…..m’just having some fun” he said. 

John didn’t even bother to point out just how much Sherlock didn’t consider getting drunk and having casual encounters with random women ‘fun’. “You’re drunk, and we are going home” John insisted. 

“Ah, don’t be so uptight” the woman on Sherlock’s lap teased. “You can join us sweetheart. We’ll share”

John felt anger up to his ears; he was so not jealous and yet somehow he was. He did not like Sherlock in that way but still……he…..didn’t……share…….

“I don’t share” John said, feeling anger coursing through him. “He’s mine”

“John…..”Sherlock said, looking confused and unable to say anything more. He looked torn between anger and a smile. 

“Ooh…..possessive” one of the women sitting next to Sherlock teased with a smile. “You better keep him”

Done with all of this jealously and nonsense and completely ready for rest and relaxation, John pulled Sherlock out of the booth. “Come on…..now” he said, his voice angry even though all he felt was sympathy for his flat mate. 

John was surprised how quiet and compliant Sherlock was as he led him out of the club; it wasn’t a surprise when Sherlock starting slapping at him weakly the moment they were on the street. 

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” John protested, resisting Sherlock’s punches as much as he could. “What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me” Sherlock said, swaying on the spot and looking quite the contrary. “I was doing just fine…..you’re the one that came in like something was wrong.”

“Of course I did” John said, his voice raising. “Because something is wrong. I can tell when you’re not okay and you were definitely not okay when you left that crime scene. Talk to me”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Sherlock yelled, uncharacteristically angry. 

John felt the sting of rejection; why didn’t Sherlock want to talk to him? He was always the first person his little boy ran to; it hurt that that wasn’t the case today. “Why? Why not?” John asked, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. 

“I don’t need to talk” Sherlock insisted. “I need to go back in that club and bloody unwind!”

John was resigned to the fact that Sherlock was not going to talk to him and he tried to bury his disappointment. “Fine…..don’t talk to me” John said, taking Sherlock’s arm firmly.

“But I’m not going to let you go back in there. You are really drunk and I know if you go back in there you’re going to regret what you’ll do. So……we’re going home.”

John hailed a cab and pushed Sherlock in the back, literally kicking and screaming. The moment that John climbed in beside him, he turned away and stared out the window, completely silent and pretending John wasn’t there. And it hurt more than John could have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

John tried to focus on the warmth of the water as it ran over his skin and cleansed the dirt off of him. He tried to focus on his muscles relaxing and the sense of fatigue that came over him. But all he could think as he stood alone in the shower was how lonely and sad he was. 

He had been scared; there was no doubt. He had been completely convinced that Sherlock would come for him but that didn’t stop him from being scared at being at the mercy of a mad man. All he could think of the entire time was how nice it would be to be encircled in Sherlock’s arms when it was over. All he wanted was to hold his little boy, to protect him and know he was protected as well. To be pushed away so abruptly, for Sherlock to run away from him the second they had been reunited…..to seek comfort in complete strangers……it hurt. Sherlock had ignored him the whole cab ride back and the second that he had hobbled into the flat, he’d retreated into his bedroom. John went to the bathroom, resigning to take a shower and go to bed. Maybe tomorrow would feel better……

John had just washed the soap out of his hair and preparing to get out of shower when suddenly the curtain was wrenched back. 

“Sherlock? What the hell?” John asked, feeling like he wanted to cover himself but it was pointless. 

But Sherlock didn’t say anything; he just stood there, stark naked, staring at him. 

“What do you want?” John asked, feeling his face red. He wanted to be angry but the look on Sherlock’s face made him freeze

Sherlock didn’t look mad; he looked incredibly sad. John felt his heart break when he noticed Sherlock’s lip trembled. 

Keeping his eyes fixed on John, Sherlock stepped into the shower and shut the curtain behind him. John had only a few seconds to be confused about where this was going before Sherlock hugged him tightly. Had a hug been all it was, John probably would have said something about Sherlock’s attitude and how he pushed John away, how it wasn’t acceptable for him to just burst into John’s shower and demand attention when he had demanded to be alone minuets ago. While it first seemed strange, John didn’t say anything for a very good reason. 

Sherlock wasn’t hugging him; he was clinging to him. Sherlock leaned down so that his face was pressed against John’s chest, his arms wrapped around John and gripping his shoulders so that he couldn’t get away. Then, he started crying; the heart wrenching, soul aching sob of someone who couldn’t hold it in any longer. As precarious as the situation might have looked to an outsider, John knew with certainty this was the overflow of feelings Sherlock had been fighting all day; he just needed to be with John.   
As Sherlock cried and clung to him, John couldn’t deny the wave of emotion that was coming over him as well. This, in a strange way, was what he had been longing for all day. He hadn’t need anything except to be with Sherlock, his flat mate, his friend…..his little boy. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and squeezed him back as hard as his weakened arms would allow. 

John didn’t move, didn’t even attempt to break the connection until he felt the water in the shower begin to run cold. Even then he tried to ignore it, not wanting to the break the intimate connection until he couldn’t bear the ice cold water on his flesh any longer. Sherlock’s crying had significantly slowed down and so he felt it might be safe to move him. As gently as he could, John broken their connection and turned the water off. Sherlock looked up, face red and eyes bloodshot but he remained silent as he watched John. John climbed out of the shower, pulling the curtain back and helping Sherlock out of the tub. Sherlock seemed frozen, as he often did when overwhelmed by strong emotions and so John reached for a towel to help him dry off. John could tell simply by the way that Sherlock looked at him that he wasn’t little right now, but he was obviously very vulnerable if he being so open with his emotions and so John went to put the towel around him to help him anyway. 

Except that the moment that John started to dry him off, Sherlock stopped him. He grabbed John’s wrists firmly, though not too hard, his eyes intent. 

“Don’t” was Sherlock’s only words as he pulled the towel from John’s hands. 

“I was only trying to help” John said, feeling confused by the action. He had assumed Sherlock would welcome the help. He wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t. 

He didn’t have long to wonder about it when a moment later, Sherlock put the towel around him and began to dry him off. John was so surprised that he remained frozen as Sherlock moved the towel over his body and dried the water from him. It wasn’t until Sherlock had dried down to his feet and was moving back to towards his hair that John made sense of it. When Sherlock wrapped the towel around John’s hair and began to gently rub it dry, John could see it. 

Fear…..Sherlock had been afraid, maybe even more afraid than John could have realized; maybe he’d been so scared he hadn’t even known how to react. Sherlock had been afraid of losing John and now he wanted to take care of him. It was exactly what he needed. 

Sherlock finished drying John off before he carefully tied the towel around John waist. Not sure what Sherlock was going to do next but not wanting to go back to his room and have to be alone, John waited while Sherlock dried himself and put the towel around him. John was shivering from the cold and feeling raw as he watched Sherlock expectantly. John thought he had kept up his spirits remarkably well as throughout the day considering the circumstances but he felt his resolve weakening. Something about Sherlock’s concern for him made him realize fully what he had gone through and that he should be more broken up about it. He felt suddenly small, lost, sad…….he imagined it was a lot like Sherlock felt when he went into his little space. 

John’s feelings must have been showing on his face; a moment later Sherlock had taken his hand with a small smile on his face. Sherlock led John up the stairs and to his room. Sherlock helped him sit down on the bed and gave him a broader smile; it seemed unnatural for the circumstances and it comforted John. His gradually growing sense of panic and sorrow lessened at the smile. 

“Sit still just one moment, I’ll be right back” Sherlock said before scurrying out of the room. John felt relief spreading through him as he waited for Sherlock to come back; he was sure he knew what was coming next and it was one of the best ways he could imagine ending such a stressful day. 

John’s uncharacteristic neediness was rising inside him again when Sherlock finally returned to John’s room clad in, surprisingly, adult pyjamas. John couldn’t help but notice there was still a large sway to Sherlock’s walk; that may have also accounted for the oddly mismatched shirt and bottoms. John watched with expectation and a quickening pace of heart as Sherlock went to the drawer John kept his nappies in. John lay back against the bed, assuming his changing position as he felt excitement building in him; a Sherlock nappy change was a rare and special thing. 

When Sherlock returned from John’s drawers with his nappy, John wasn’t prepared for the look on his face. There was no smile, no sparkle in his eyes; what he saw was even better. 

Devotion……it was something John always knew was there. Sherlock cared deeply for John; he was practically attached to his hip. Even though Sherlock didn’t often say it in so many words, John knew he loved him as much as John loved Sherlock. When in little space, Sherlock often looked at him with admiration, even stars in his eyes. But as an adult……Sherlock very rarely looked at him in such a way. It spoke of such love, such care that John was overwhelmed. The look alone was enough to make him feel close to tears. As he had been left to his own thoughts while Sherlock had retrieved his pyjamas, he’d thought about the kidnapping and he had grown with feelings of unease and neediness. The look in Sherlock’s eyes now quelled those feelings and assured him he was loved and cared for. 

John resisted the urge to cry and let go of all of the emotions that had been weighting him down as Sherlock opened the nappy and placed it under him as John obligingly lifted up. Sherlock slowly, carefully, pulled the nappy around his bits, pulling the sides tightly closed before doing tapes securely. John felt completely safe and protected; secure. He was at home, with Sherlock and he was safe. He could feel his muscles relax all the way through his body, from head to toe as his physical form was convinced of what his mind was telling it. He had nothing to worry about now. 

John was watching Sherlock, basking in the sense of care and love that he saw emanating from his eyes, when to his surprise Sherlock leaned down and placed a kiss on small space between the top of his nappy and his belly button. It was such a small, intimate gesture; not like Sherlock at all. John felt his hands going to Sherlock’s curls, running through it as he felt feather like kisses on his skin. 

When Sherlock finally stopped the gentle motions and began to lean up and away from him, John reached for the end of his bed where he had left his discarded pyjamas from the last night he’d slept here to quickly put them on. To his surprise and dismay, Sherlock’s eyes widened. 

“No!” he said, wrenching the pyjamas from John’s hands as if he had done something offensive. 

“What? What’s wrong?” John asked in confusion as Sherlock chucked the pyjamas across the room. 

Sherlock looked torn. “I need……I need……” he said, his face contorting as if something pained him. 

“What do you need?” John asked helpfully, wondering if Sherlock was stuck, as his brilliant thoughts sometimes were, especially when, like now, he was intoxicated. 

Sherlock seemed to struggle through his thoughts. “I need……” he said, but didn’t finish his sentence. The next moment, John felt a warm body pressed against his own. 

Sherlock was sitting between John’s legs, his head on John’s chest, his hands pressed lightly on him. Sherlock pressed his ear persistently against John’s chest where his heart was. “I need this” he said. There was finally a smile on his face and he looked content. 

Finally, all of the pieces came together. It wouldn’t have made sense to John with any other person; even in the past it wouldn’t have made sense in regard to Sherlock. But having known Sherlock for a couple of years now, a significant portion of which was spent in the intimate position of being his caregiver, it made sense. Though Sherlock couldn’t voice his feelings, he had been worried, maybe even scared, about the possibility of losing John. He hadn’t been able to speak about these feelings or really figure out what he needed; he’d been grasping at straws. 

Sherlock needed connection; he needed close contact with John. Perhaps, he even needed it to convince himself that John was really okay. Sherlock wasn’t the best at interrupting his feelings; it had led to many strange incidents over the years. Sherlock, needing physical connection in a strong way but not really understanding it had reached out to strangers. His feelings had likely been so strong that they scared Sherlock and caused him to pull away. 

John didn’t know what to say so he did what felt natural; his hands went to Sherlock’s hair and began to run through it gently. He knew he was not mistaken in hearing a small sigh escape Sherlock’s lips. The chill that John felt on his skin quickly passed as he felt Sherlock’s warmth spread through him from the extended contact. Feeling a burst of warmth and love for the man who so desperately needed him, needed him as much as John needed him, John put both his arms around him and squeezed him tightly against him. Any power in the universe that sought to separate them had quite another thing coming to it; John was sure that nothing could ever stand a chance against the force of them, of this……of all they had. 

…….  
It was raining now, the heavy patter of rain on the roof lulling John. He occasionally tore his glance away from the man next to him to the window to watch the rain falling out the window before looking back. He was desperately tired, as he was sure Sherlock was, but neither wanted to give into sleep. Sherlock lay on his chest, his ear still pressed against John’s heart, one arm draped against John’s chest. Feeling a shiver run through both of them, John pulled the blanket up higher and the shivering stopped. John’s titled head toward Sherlock’s pressed against the curls. It was an odd situation; John and Sherlock had never been this close, physically or emotionally while not being in little space. Something of it scared John; he wasn’t sure what to make of it. But a bigger part of him was excited; he had wanted this before. It was that very desire to be closer to adult Sherlock that had prompted John to even try age play in the first place. He pondered what a blunder it would have been for him to never have given it a chance. 

“Thank you, Sherlock” John said before he could really think about it or try to stop it. He wanted to say it for rescuing him but also just for how much he really felt Sherlock cared about him. In a life that had been depressingly devoid of genuine affection, he was sure that he had never been so loved. 

He was sure that Sherlock would know exactly what he meant. “I didn’t have a chance…..it was the only option” Sherlock said honestly. He needed John as much as John needed him and he didn’t have any other option but to tear the world apart to save him. Sherlock scooted closer to John, wrapping his arm around him and knotting his leg around John’s, pressing against his embarrassingly warm nappy area; as usual, Sherlock didn’t comment on it. 

A long pause drew before Sherlock said, “Thank you”

“For what?” John asked, confused by a very rare Sherlock thank you. 

“For coming and getting me tonight……you were right…..I would have regretted that” Sherlock said honestly. The honesty and openness of it surprised and warmed John. 

“I know you would have……that’s why I made you come even though you didn’t want to” John said. He knew if Sherlock had woken up sober and hung up in the morning in some strange woman’s bed he would have been mortified and disgusted with himself. 

Sherlock turned his head so that he could look up at John, a wicked smile on his face. “And you were bloody jealous” he said with a laugh. John felt his cheeks flush red, increasing his guilt.

“No I wasn’t!” John tried to argue. But arguing with Sherlock was pointless. For some crazy reason it had bothered him to no end to see Sherlock in such an adult situation. It went against his protective instincts. 

“I believe your exact words were ‘he’s mine’ and ‘I don’t share’” Sherlock said with a chuckle that made him shake against John. John’s face burned; even drunk Sherlock didn’t miss a thing. He supposed it did sound rather telling spoken back to him; he had just seen red in the moment and it had just come spilling out. To any bystander it would have seemed stranger but Sherlock was his little boy and he didn’t plan on sharing him at all. That wasn’t to say that he would deny him some sort of other relationship because he wouldn’t; but tonight he wanted him all to himself. 

“I didn’t mean it like that” John said weakly, feeling the blush vanish slowly. 

Sherlock’s smile vanished, replaced by that look of devotion he had seen early. “Yes you did” he said quietly. “And I liked it” Without another word, without his characteristic gloating, Sherlock laid his head back down on John’s chest and fell asleep within minutes, leaving John with the wide smile on his face.


End file.
